Incredible
as it may sound, eighteen years have already passed since the original
release of Live In San Francisco, the nice solo piano album that Marilyn
Crispell recorded one night in October, 1989. But it was not thanks to
its beauty that I thought about that album again while listening to Vignettes,
Crispell's new solo work that for some will maybe signal a "new lyricism" phase
in the artistic voyage of the US pianist. The reason that album came to
my mind was for its liner notes, written by Graham Lock (the critic who,
if I remember correctly, was one of the first, and one of the most enthusiastic,
champions of Marilyn Crispell's music): at that time, Crispell already
had a substantial discography under her own name, and also some fame of
some sort, thanks to her being a part of the then-somewhat-famous quartet
led by Anthony Braxton. Cecil Taylor being the pianist she was said to
resemble the most, with John Coltrane (not the saxophone player anybody
would mention as being the perfect example of economy of means) as the
musician who most had inspired her, all seemed to indicate a strong, fluvial
flow as her favourite means of expression. So it was with a certain amount
of surprise that I read that Taylor had defined Crispell's music as spearheading "a
new lyricism": "an epithet", wrote Lock, "she accepts
with a degree of reservation". "It's an aspect of my work, but
I don't think of it as a primary aspect."

At
this point in time, we could say that Taylor was indeed right, but that
Crispell wasn't wrong, either. (One could also speculate about the possible
reasons why one has to adopt a certain degree of caution when it comes
to labels and definitions, first of all for the quite real possibility
for a musician who's still not universally perceived as a recognizable
entity to be labeled as "the new Cecil Taylor" or "the Coltrane
of the piano" (or "the new McCoy Tyner", perhaps?), then
as "the new Bill Evans", or Paul Bley, or Keith Jarrett.)

It's
stimulating, at this point in time, to revisit Monk's shadow appearing
in the standard When I Fall In Love; or the jerky, Taylorian approach Crispell
adopts in her interpretation of Monk's Ruby, My Dear: two performances
that I listened to side-by-side with the
"lyric" approach Crispell adopted for her performance of the highly-celebrated
Coltrane ballad After The Rain, on the album titled For Coltrane; a comparison
that was available to me only ex post, since I had no way of knowing the
latter track: though it had been recorded two years earlier than Live In
San Francisco, For Coltrane was released only three years later.

I
think it's absolutely appropriate to trace a line of development that has
the album where Marilyn Crispell, Gary Peacock and Paul Motian performed
music written by Annette Peacock as its starting point (Nothing Ever Was,
Anyway, 1997), then the later album by the same line-up (Amaryllis, 2001),
then the one recorded by the trio made of Crispell, Motian and Mark
Helias (Storyteller, 2004), and which arrives now at Vignettes. And I'd
be the last to say that the potential influence that some
"folk"-flavoured themes written Motian had in making the abovementioned "lyricism" come
to the surface could ever be overestimated. But it's at our own peril that
we forget that this is just one of the things Crispell has done. And that,
though Taylor was right, Crispell was right, too.

At
almost seventy minutes, Vignettes is a quite varied album - though there
are many "ballads" here, Ballads would not definitely be an appropriate
title. I found a bit strange that the chosen title had to be Vignettes,
though, since the seven tracks bearing that title, being for the most part
on the brief side, are the ones that "weigh" less in the whole.
Here I have to confess that among the many possible different paths available
to me for my exploration of the album the one I travelled the most was
by extrapolating the seven Vignettes, and then listening to them on their
own. And though I don't think that this is by any means a definitive conclusion,
I'll say that, though the seven "vignettes" are stylistically
quite diverse, it's the full use of both hands on them (an aspect those
who are familiar with Crispell's music know well) that's the single factor
that most differentiates these tracks from the rest. While her use of the
piano pedals is absolutely masterful everywhere.

The
album is for the most part quite accessible, but when taking its length
into consideration, in order to avoid the possibility that those more lyric
and melodic moments (there's also a composition that would sound quite
plausible when played by Lars Hollmer's accordion) could risk becoming
a kind of background, I decided to split the whole in two "sides" of
about the same length, separating the first nine tracks from the remaining
eight.

A
clear and "cold" sound is used for the first track, Vignette
I, where the mike placement couples a close-up of the right hand playing
on the upper part of the keyboard to an ambient panorama, with strange
results. Valse Triste has a nice, composed theme, presenting us with an
atmosphere that is the most
"unusual" part of the album, and reminding us of both Bleys (Paul
and Carla); from here, it's the right hand that for the most part becomes
the main character, playing melodies, while the left hand is given a supporting
role. This is also true of the track that follows, Cuida Tu Espíritu, composed
by Jayna Nelson. This new melodicism also appears on Gathering Light, whose
(to me) Bach-like mood would be perfect for a harpsichord performance. Vignette
II has the piano strings plucked, and though it's quite brief, like the tracks
that follow, Vignette III, IV and V, reveals its considerable depth with
repeated listening sessions. At times melodious, at times knotty, the (relatively)
long track titled Sweden ends this "first part" quite well.

A
sentimental, but definitely not syrupy, ballad, Once opens the "second
part", immediately followed by a quite Taylor-like piece, Axis; then,
two Vignettes, VI and VII, presenting highly dramatic moods. The album "opens
up" again with Ballade, moves along similar lines with Time Past,
and the quite "folk-like" Stilleweg - the track composed by Arve
Henriksen that (loosely speaking) reminded me of Lars Hollmer; these are
all tracks that are to be explored by the listener, without any further
comments. In closing, Little Song For My Father has astounding technical
means at the service of an expression that on the surface could almost
appear as being
"elementary".